


Christmas Is The Time to Say I Love You

by Candy_A



Category: Donald Strachey Mysteries (movieverse)
Genre: Holidays, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 19:14:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9251984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candy_A/pseuds/Candy_A
Summary: Donald ponders the joys of Christmas in October, and the joys of Timothy anytime.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This one is for jdcnow, and any of our other fandom members who have to live through three months of Christmas in the retail business.

Title: Christmas Is The Time to Say I Love You

Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (Movieverse)

Pairing: Donald & Timothy

Rating: R, for language/sexual references

Word Count: About 2400

Spoilers: Reference to Ice Blues

Disclosure: They don't belong to me, but I'm eternally grateful to Mr. Stevenson for creating them and Mr. Oliver for bringing them to such lovely life in the movies. 

Author's Notes: This one is for jdcnow, and any of our other fandom members who have to live through three months of Christmas in the retail business.

Summary: Donald ponders the joys of Christmas in October, and the joys of Timothy anytime.

*************************

  
  


CHRISTMAS IS THE TIME TO SAY I LOVE YOU

  


by

  


Candy Apple

  


They say things change when you get married, that you find out a whole lot of things about the love of your life that you never knew before. They let things "hang out" you've never seen before. I figured I would be immune to that since it isn't humanly possible for anyone to love anyone any more than I love Timothy. I love everything about him. The way he looks, the sound of his voice, the way he feels next to me in bed. Let's not even get started on how he looks naked. I mean, what else could I find out about him that I didn't already know and love? Even the fact he's close to his mother and she knits god-awful sweaters didn't freak me out. She's as sweet and good-hearted as he is and treats me like her own son. I can wear an ugly sweater a couple times a year for that.

  


Timothy loves Christmas. That sounds sweet, endearing, and harmless, doesn't it? But I'm talking about him loving it the way the mall loves it when they put away their pumpkins before the trick-or-treaters have even hit the streets, and inundate hapless customers with Christmas trees, ornaments, wreaths, and other not-so-subliminal suggestions that they are already late parting with all their money if they aren't Christmas shopping on Halloween.

  


Christmas decorations in October piss me off and make me cranky. They remind me I'm a year older and not a day richer - - oh, shit, I just quoted Scrooge, didn't I? I knew I had issues with this holiday, but even I didn't know I was that bad. The sparkling asshole snowman in the food court reminds me that I never started that Christmas club I meant to last year, that I have no clue what I'm going to get Timothy, the Christmas boy, and that I'm coming up on that season when I'm going to have to climb up on the roof and attach a perfectly symmetrical line of Christmas lights to the house. Apparently, Timothy stays up nights worrying about me out on the job, but has no problem sending me up on the roof in the winter to put out lights. He must think the Christmas angels will bear me up if I fall off the roof, but won't be so kind if someone shoots at me on the ground.

  


At least getting shot at doesn't require you to worry about symmetry, that one fucking bulb that you can count on going out the second night you have the lights on so you end up back on the roof again, or arranging the decorations to meet the impossible standards of your decorating supervisor, who is only safe from your wrath because he gives the best post-light-hanging blow jobs in the world. 

  


You see, Timmy likes the way the house looks with lights along the roof line, but he isn't fond of ladders. He nearly chose being killed by Frank Zailian's goons rather than going down that fire ladder. 

  


So there I was, Ebenezer Strachey, faced with a lifetime commitment to a guy who made Bob Cratchit look miserly. Who actually loves it when the radio stations start playing Christmas music the day after Halloween. Who gets excited when the stores start to move things around to make room for the obscene overdose of Christmas wrapping, decorations, and, God help us, moving illuminated electrical yard creatures they'll be displaying until almost Valentine's Day, while they're trying to get rid of all the crap that people like me refused to buy in-season at full price. 

  


And that's another thing. Why would you buy Christmas decorations in November or December? They're going to be half price in January, so you can buy twice as much for the same money if you plan ahead. At least, that's the line of reasoning I used when Timothy was bleeding cash decorating our first house for Christmas. The fucking renovations didn't cost that much. Well, they probably did, but at least I felt less financially exploited paying for a new fireplace than I did paying for yards of pine garland and tinsel. 

  


That's when I came face to face with a choice about how I was going to feel about Timothy's joy for Christmas. That moment when his face fell as he stood in the aisle of that big arts and crafts store, when he finally quietly put back the $49.99 wreath he wanted for the front door, when he deflated like one of those blow-up yard snowmen with the air let out of it. When I stood there with my hands on the shopping card handlebar, feeling like the biggest asshole in New York State. I'd saved almost fifty bucks, but I'd completely crushed Timmy's excitement. I actually had thought that's what I wanted, for him to not be so excited about Christmas, to grow up, for God's sake, and see the horrific retail rip-off it really was, and settle for a nice real tree from the lot downtown, some spiked egg nog, a little mistletoe on the headboard, and tying a couple red ribbons someplace interesting.

  


It's not like I had a traumatic childhood where I was frightened by a department store Santa Claus, or that my parents didn't feed me or locked me in a closet on Christmas Eve. My father didn't even get stuck in the chimney and die and start stinking, like the guy in that twisted Christmas carol. We went to church, ate a big dinner, opened presents, and put up with visiting relatives just like any other family. I like Christmas. In December. Within reason. I just don't like it permeating my life and draining my bank account for three full months.

  


So I had what I thought I wanted. Timmy was slowly putting things back, all traces of joy drained from his face and his posture. God, was I really that big of an asshole? And was Timmy's excitement over Christmas really all that bad? Was anything that lit up that beautiful face of his and made him nearly bounce with excitement, anything but wonderful?

  


"Timothy, go back and get the wreath. We need something on the front door," I said. I knew it was lame, but I was counting on that stupid hunk of fake pine, velvet ribbon, and assorted sparkly things to make everything right again. 

  


"You're right, I'm overdoing it. I do every year. The only thing I needed to use the basement storage facilities in my apartment building for were my six different sets of Christmas tree decorations. I keep seeing different ones I like, and I get in the spirit..." He sighed, smiling faintly. 

  


"Maybe you just need to give me a little time to catch up with you," I said, shrugging. 

  


"You don't like doing this. I can see it in your face."

  


"Because it's _October_ , Timmy. They're running a marathon of all the _Halloween_ movies starting at nine. We have pumpkins in the garage we haven't carved yet."

  


"If I don't get this stuff now, the sales won't be this good in a few weeks, and I won't be able to afford it." He paused. "And I don't like buying it in January. It takes all the fun out of it," he admitted, looking sheepish. 

  


Suddenly it hit me, there in the aisle of that damn arts and crafts store with its overpowering stock of evergreen made out of rubber or polyester, or whatever they make fake pine out of now. I didn't have to be in the Christmas spirit. I had to be in the Timmy spirit. And I could always go there, anytime, year-round. Even if I didn't share his joy for Christmas in October, I shared the joy of seeing Timmy...joyful. And if an overpriced wreath marked at 25% off spread the huge grin on his face that I'd seen before I effectively killed it, then that's what I was going to focus on.

  


Because my love for this beautiful man who committed his life to me knows no season. It doesn't need an anniversary or candles, it doesn't need mistletoe or trees. If I let myself dwell on how I feel about Timothy, it uplifts me, makes me smile for no good reason, and warms me to the core of my soul on the worst winter day. I can't believe he's mine. Even now, years into our marriage, there are times we're out somewhere, or I'm putting up with some dry-as-a-popcorn-fart political reception, and I look over at him in his suit, or God help me, a tux, and I just can't believe he's with me. That he turns that beautiful face toward me, and smiles in a way he hasn't smiled all evening, even though he's been smiling for most of the event. He only smiles at me _that way._

  


Sometimes I'm just trailing along in the grocery store while he second-guesses everything I pick out and usually has a better idea (or so he thinks) for what we ought to buy, and he's just dressed in his favorite khakis and a shirt and a coat, reading the nutritional information on a bag of cheese curls, and I fall in love with him all over again. I mean, who else but Timothy would bother reading the nutritional information on a bag of Cheetos? There is no nutritional value to this food. You buy it for the same reason you buy a wreath in October. It's not logical, but it makes you happy.

  


So in the middle of the arts and crafts store, surrounded by fake pine and fluorescent sale signs, I abandon the cart and take Timothy in my arms and kiss him. Not a little G-rated peck on the cheek, but a big, sexy, full-on-the-mouth, will-traumatize-the-little-ones, prolonged, passionate kiss that leaves him breathless, the middle-aged woman with her children at the other end of the aisle outraged, and me, finally, filled with joy that hasn't got a damn thing to do with Christmas. 

  


"I love you, Timothy Callahan, and if Christmas decorations in October make you happy, I'm gonna learn to love those, too. Now will you go get your wreath - - or better yet, get the $59.99 one you really wanted - - and anything else you think will make the first Christmas in our new home together look the way you want it to."

  


"I have a better idea," he said, not moving out of my arms, and not caring that other customers were quietly freaked out by the two men holding each other in the middle of the wreath aisle. "Why don't we go home, watch the _Halloween_ marathon, carve our pumpkins, and do this in a couple weeks?"

  


"What about all the sales you'll miss?"

  


"There's only one thing I need in our house to make our first Christmas there just the way I want it, and I'm holding onto it right now," he said, and then he kissed me like he usually kisses me in bed. Hot, open mouthed with lots of tongue, and like he doesn't ever want to stop.

  


"I think I could do Christmas decoration shopping in mid-November," I said, nodding, smiling. Hell, I'd have shopped for Easter decorations right then and not raised an objection.

  


"And be cheerful about it?"

  


"Yeah, even be cheerful about it," I conceded, laughing. God, he was so beautiful and so sweet and so good...how could I have ever been suck a prick to him over a stupid wreath?

  


"And you'll put Christmas lights wherever I want you to?" he asked, drawing a horrified expression and quickened walk from an older woman passing us in the aisle. We both laughed.

  


"I'll put Christmas lights in places you haven't even imagined," I joked, kissing him again, but this time it was just playful, affectionate. 

  


"Let's go over to the Halloween section. Everything's 50% off there, and then we can pick out a Thanksgiving centerpiece. Maybe some Indian corn for the door."

  


"I can do that. But we need to put a nickel in it if we're going to be home in time for the movies."

  


"So which ones are they running? All of them?" he asked as he put back a couple other Christmas items and happily accompanied me to the aisles bedecked with colorful fake leaves, pumpkins, witches, and ghosts. 

  


"The original through the last sequel. It runs all night."

  


"Maybe we should watch it in bed then," he suggested, arching one eyebrow. 

  


I'd never made love to the _Halloween_ theme music before, but I was looking forward to one more "first" to share with the love of my life.

  


I'd like to say that Timothy's obsession with Christmas cooled a bit, that I never get frustrated with it anymore, and that we've fallen into a pattern of total harmony on the subject. Well, it didn't, I still do, and we haven't. But we "fight" about that like we "fight" about most things, neither one of us really all that passionate about "winning." And always feeling infinitely lousy if we manage to hurt each other in the process. And being a little more in love when we make up.

  


Timmy's gotten used to me inventing new combinations of curses while I'm crawling around on the roof or, yes, hooking up that illuminated manger scene he had to have. I think he figured if he went with the Holy Family, I'd be afraid of eternal damnation if I swore at them while I was hooking them up. It was still early in our marriage, and now he knows me better. But still, I hook it up every year, and I even go to Wal-Mart and get another bulb when the second wise man's head doesn't light up like it's supposed to. Of course, he reminds me that I bought him the wise men on the after Christmas sale, and that's why we got a defective one. I tell him to watch his mouth or I won't buy him the camel this year.

  


Ah, yes, Christmas is the time to say I love you...

  


********

  


THE END


End file.
